


This Burden Came To Me

by firecracker189



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Steve is a good boyfriend, bucky is insecure about himself and tortured, but i needed to write some good old fashioned bucky angst, i just love them okay, rightfully so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecracker189/pseuds/firecracker189
Summary: Late night angst. Bucky needs reassuring. Steve's got his back.





	This Burden Came To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Translations at end.

Screams echoed in his ears as he sneaked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. His skin crawled, heart pounding as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. The softest of steps carried him across to the other bathroom, and he closed himself in, turning the lights on. The fluorescent glow bathed him in a ghostly light as he stared at himself in the mirror, the dark bags under his eyes standing out against pale sweat covered skin. Screams echoed in his mind and he shook his head with a little snarl of irritation, as if he could shake them out through his ears. Goose bumps rose against his skin in the cool air as the tacky sweat began to evaporate from the surface of his skin. But he didn't notice, too preoccupied with staring at the deep scar tissue that crossed his shoulder, marred his side-- the rough transition of metal into flesh. He felt bile rising and the metal fist clenched in response to his own revulsion. The things he'd done....

He remembered every single one of them. All those faces, full of terror, lips crying out, tears sliding down pale cheeks. Remembered the sensation of beating them to a pulp, of that hand closing around their throats... how easy it was to extinguish that spark of life. 

The empty eyes that stared out at nothing still haunted his dreams, when he wasn't dreaming of endless cycles of pain. 

A vicious cycle: dreams of killing or dreams of nearly being killed by Zola's experiments. 

He let out a shuddering breath and leaned forward, suddenly dizzy with the weight of it all. He pressed his forehead to the coolness of the mirror, squeezing his eyes shut tight. But it didn't get rid of the faces. Didn't remove the sound of the screaming--  _¡por favor no! per favore no! prosím ne! --  
_ Every language they had used swirled on and on... dizzying... 

He thudded to his knees, unaware of anything happening until the door opened. A very tired but concerned Steve stood in the doorway. 

Bucky cast around for a language, any language, but it was like grasping for straws. He opened his mouth and hoped something came out. 

"Per favore," he begged, knowing full well he sounded pitiful. But he  _needed help to make it stop and Steve was good Steve helped Steve always helped--_ "aiutami, per favore..." his face crumpled, voice coming out as a grating and desperate whisper, animalistic almost. " _F_ _allo smettere!!_ "   


Steve, God bless him, knelt down like nothing was wrong and hoisted Bucky up to a sitting position, producing a rag from somewhere and holding it to the place he'd cracked on the sink on the way down. His chin throbbed beneath the pressure Steve put on the wound. 

"lascia che ti aiuti," Steve promised, and Bucky felt himself deflate like a balloon.  _Steve was going to help._

"concentrati su di me, amore mio." Steve's voice was soft, and Bucky felt like crying. Steve filled the small space, his smell, his presence, his voice, his warmth-- everything was  _Steve._ And Steve was starting to make his brain quiet down. It wasn't for several moments that he realized he'd been speaking Italian and not English. He was too tired to apologize. He just wanted to let Steve take care of him. 

Steve left his eyeline to dispose of the dirty rag now that the bleeding had stopped, and he made some soft pathetic sound. "Only be a moment," Steve's voice was sleepy and full of warmth, and it sounded like the most beautiful kind of lifeline to Bucky's ears. When he returned, he wrangled Bucky's heavy body into a soft sweatshirt, sitting down beside him and wrapping his arms around him. "I'm here." he whispered, at a loss for what else to do, knowing the state of Bucky's thoughts. 

Bucky leaned into the warmth. He would always be grateful to have Steve back in his life. Eventually, the swirling thoughts and screams began to fade, and he came back to himself. He slowly twisted to face Steve, claiming his lips in a slow kiss. 

"I love you." he murmured tiredly. "Thank you." 

Steve gave a tentative smile in return. "You're welcome." 

The two sat in companionable silence for a bit longer before Bucky took the lead, pushing to his feet and hauling Steve up. "Let's get back to bed, punk." 

Steve blushed a little and ducked his head. Bucky laughed quietly, feeling a fondness flood his body as he grabbed Steve in a tight hug. Steve's head dropped to his shoulder and he sighed. "Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest guy in the world, havin' you around to help me." 

Steve made a little soft sound in assent, and Bucky tapped his shoulder. "C'mon. Back to bed. If you're a good boy, I might reward you." he smirked, and enjoyed the sight of the splotchy blush appearing on Steve's neck. Steve peeled himself away and began to saunter back towards the bedroom, awake fully now. 

"What happens if I'm not a good boy?" he asked coyly, tossing a little devious grin over his shoulder. 

Bucky felt something else churning in his gut. "We'll see when we get to it." 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations  
> per favore, por favor, prosím ne-- please, no!  
> aiutami, per favore-- help me, please!  
> Fallo smettere-- make it stop!  
> concentrati su di me, amore mio-- focus on me, my love  
> lascia che ti aiuti-- let me help you


End file.
